


dear starboy

by astralscrivener



Series: modern au: squad up universe [21]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Birthday Presents, Boys In Love, Established Keith/Lance (Voltron), Fluff, I Made Myself Cry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 09:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15482364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener
Summary: “You totally planned a scavenger hunt,” Lance says, “and your cheesy ass put all the clues on Polaroids. I’m right, aren’t I? You’re a hopeless romantic.”Keith has something special planned for Lance's 18th birthday gift.set duringchapter 18of a midsummer night's meme.





	dear starboy

**Author's Note:**

> my heart started pounding while i was writing this, and then i started crying...and my mom has been sitting five feet away the whole time i wrote this. I HOPE Y'ALL APPRECIATE THIS.
> 
> this is for everyone who immediately demanded a oneshot after finishing chapter 18 _you heathens_

            Keith’s got something up his sleeve, Lance can tell that much, from the way he bites his bottom lip to keep a grin from spreading across his face, as Lance carefully unwraps his gift.

            It’s not the neatest wrapping job Keith’s ever done. The present is big and bulky, and its shape makes it fairly obvious. Still, Lance smiles anyway, bright as the sun in the hazy sky outside, because he’s been needing a new guitar case for years.

            The one in his lap now is a deep blue, made of leather. The strap and handles on this one aren’t worn down, aren’t a tug away from breaking off completely. The leather is almost shiny in its newness, and Lance lifts his eyes to Keith. He opens his mouth to say thank you, but Keith speaks first: “I think you should open it.”

            That’s intriguing.

            Lance raises his eyebrows and drops his gaze back to the case. He opens it up, eyes scanning the inside of it. Is he just supposed to be looking at how wonderful the support will be for his guitar, or—?

            _Oh._

            Lance spots it almost immediately—a small rectangle, bordered in white, taped to the center of the inside of the case. A Polaroid. Upon inspection, Lance finds that the photo’s of Lance himself. In the photo he’s laughing, head thrown back, one hand clutching his chest. The background is undoubtedly the interior of Balmera Beans, and Lance is wearing the visor that marks him as an employee. Briefly, he wonders when Keith took that photo, and how he never noticed, and then realizes that there’s gotta be a reason that this is taped to the inside of his guitar case.

            Lance peels it off of the inside of his case carefully, and flips it over. He’s only a little bit surprised when he finds a four-line message on the back in Keith’s scrawl:

 _Dear Starboy,_  
_these are snapshots, pieces of you._  
_Look at each one carefully_  
_and follow the clues._

            Lance looks up again. Keith’s smile’s gotten wider, and he’s biting his lip harder.

            “Happy birthday,” Keith manages, and winks. His eyes dart to the front door of Allura’s mansion, barely visible through the throngs of guests here—mostly Lance’s relatives, who have somehow managed to shake off travel-weariness to be here to celebrate his 18th. Lance follows his line of sight, and then meets Keith’s eyes with a nod.

            It takes a while for them to actually find a time to slip away from everyone.

            “Keith and I have to go somewhere,” Lance informs his mother quietly, pulling her aside from the crowd. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

            Lance’s mother shifts her gaze between Lance and Keith—Lance, who’s blushing; Keith, who’s still grinning to himself conspiratorially; the two of them, holding each others’ hands with intertwined fingers, while Keith uses his free hand to twirl around his car keys.

            “Where are you going?” Mrs. McClain asks.

            “Another part of his present,” Keith responds smoothly. “It was just too big to fit in here.”

            Mrs. McClain glances at her son, who lifts his shoulders in a shrug. Evidently, Keith’s told him nothing beyond this. But Mrs. McClain has faith in the two of them, and nods at them both.

            “Alright then. Try not to be out too late, and be careful.”

            With that, she pulls each one into a hug, and releases them with a kiss on the forehead, before she sends them on their way.

            Keith leads, insistently tugging Lance toward his Jeep, practically bouncing on his feet. The smile on Lance’s face grows wide, and he can’t contain it as he watches Keith. He’s still springy when he climbs into the driver’s seat, and Lance gets in on the passenger side. Lance takes the Polaroid out of his pocket and reads over the note on the back, and then flips it over again to study the photo itself.

            “Is this some kind of scavenger hunt?” Lance asks, as Keith starts the engine.

            “Maybe.”

            And now that they’re away from everyone else, Keith allows himself to smile fully. He turns to look at Lance, and Lance’s heart jackhammers. It’s like Keith’s drunk on happiness, and Lance wonders just what the hell he has planned for today.

            “You totally planned a scavenger hunt,” Lance says, “and _your cheesy ass_ put all the clues on Polaroids. I’m right, aren’t I? You’re a hopeless romantic.”

            “Maybe I am,” Keith responds. “So now, I’m gonna do all the driving, and you’re gonna do all the braining. Where are we off to, Starboy?”

            Lance shakes his head. “I can’t believe you.”

            “Believe it. Now, where are we going?”

            Lance looks down at the Polaroid again. Part of him feels like the answer’s _too_ simple—that same part of him that grew up on spy movies and intense games of _Clue_ with his family—but he speaks anyway: “Balmera Beans?”

            “Are you asking me or are you telling me?”

            “ _Keith_.”

            “Fine, fine—we’re going to Balmera Beans.”

            “There you go.”

            “Oh, shut up, Mullet.”

* * *

            The scavenger hunt takes much longer than Lance assumed it would’ve. The trail he follows turns in circles all around town—a photo partially hidden under a coffee machine in Balmera Beans; followed by a stop at the library, for another one stuck between two books, and Lance briefly wonders how this one never got moved or lost; stops at Target, and the animal shelter, and the park, and the old restaurant where Shiro used to work.

            The more photos he gathers, the more complete of a poem he has—once he realizes, of course, that all of these photos are just fragments of it.

_You’re special to me,_  
_the brightest star in the sky._  
_remember that kiss we had,_  
_between letters x and y?_

_It’s always been you;_  
_our romance has been dreamlike._  
_I’ve only ever had one target,_  
_one heart for my arrow to strike._

_You are every color of the rainbow,_  
_every shade of the arc overhead_  
_and we make purple from our favorite,_  
_hues of blue and red._

_And the grass is greener_  
_and sky bluer when I’m with you._  
_There’s a long life ahead of us,_  
_one I hope that, together, we’ll see through._

_Sometimes we’ll dine in._  
_Sometimes we’ll dine out_  
_Every dinner’s a date with you,_  
_of that i have no doubt._

            Lance’s eyes tear up a little bit when he finds the next photo, stuck in the bushes outside of the restaurant. This photo’s of the beach near sunset, ocean waves rolling in and out, a gentle tide. The rock path, jutting out into the water, is clear in this photo. Lance stands at the edge of it with his arms spread, taking in the scent of seabreeze. He turns the photo over, and finds the next piece of the poem, and this time, he swears his heart skips a beat.

_You took me here once,_  
_and described how you used to roam_  
_from wild rollercoasters to tranquil parks_  
_but eventually, you found home._

            He looks over his shoulder at Keith’s car, pulled over to the curb, idling. Keith’s watching him from the front seat, and Lance climbs back in, hands shaking slightly.

            “We’re going to the beach.”

            And the entire ride there, Lance’s heart pounds. Even the music Keith’s blasting—their roadtrip playlist, one they would typically sing along to, except Keith’s too busy grinning and Lance is too busy wondering if this is going where he hopes this is going, or if he’s just being naive—doesn’t help to calm him down. His heart’s thudding harder than the bassline in the one song that’s playing, one he can’t even name right now because his mind is racing.

            The place is nearly deserted when they arrive.

            It’s a little unsettling, for a Saturday night during the summer, to see the beach a ghost town, but that’s okay. And Keith must think it’s okay, too, because his eyes are more alight than they’ve been this whole day, and he bounces his leg when he cuts the engine and leans back in his seat, sweeping an arm out.

            “Lead the way.”

            When Lance gets out of his car, he trips and stumbles and almost falls onto the pavement of the parking lot. Keith laughs as he jogs over to help Lance stand upright, and then twines their fingers again and lets Lance pull him along.

            Lance’s legs wobble beneath him as he approaches the rocky walkway, and his eyes scan for a dry spot, covert enough for Keith to stick a photo in and leave there for an entire day—because this _must_ be the reason he left Lance to his own devices at the airport yesterday, _must_ be the thing that was so important. And minutes later, Lance finally spots the corner of a Polaroid, sticking out from under sand, squeezed between two rocks.

            Lance lets go of Keith’s hand to gently remove it, while Keith peers over his shoulder.

            The photo’s of the two of them on one of their beach days. Lance is the one who took this Polaroid. His one arm is stretched out, and then disappears beyond the frame. His other’s tight around Keith’s shoulders, and he throws up a peace sign, fingers brushing against Keith’s cheek while Keith laughs, squishing his face against Lance’s. Two goofy, sunburnt boys.

            Lance flips the photo over.

_Home._  
_Secure and safe and warm._  
_A place that no matter what happens,_  
_you know you can ride out the storm._

            No other clue, indicating a new location. That’s two beach photos in a row. There was Lance at work; Lance in the library, perusing books for a project; Lance wielding a lightsaber in the middle of target, striking a ridiculous pose, reminiscent of a _Star Wars_ poster; Lance meeting Blue for the first time; Lance splayed out on the grass, finger pointing at some cloud in the sky; Lance, sitting across from Keith in the restaurant, making a mustache out of pasta just because he could; then the first beach photo. Now this one.

            The only difference is that Keith’s in this one.

            Lance turns around, brow furrowed. “Is there anoth— _oh my God._ ”

            He drops the photo, shaking hands flying to cover his mouth. If his legs weren't trembling before, then they certainly are now.

            Keith is on one knee.

            “O-Oh my _God_ ,” Lance repeats, everything about him shaking like a leaf, tears springing to his eyes.

            Keith smiles back up at him, but it’s not the confident, giddy line from before. His smile wobbles, as his lower lip trembles, and his eyes water. He’s holding one last Polaroid in his hand: a photo of a ring in a display case.

            “ _There_ _’s a long road ahead_ ,” Keith reads off the back of the photo in a croaking voice, “ _and a lot of it we can_ _’t see. But if you take my hand, we can travel it together. Lance McClain, will you marry me?_ ”

            The sob Lance chokes out is unholy.

            Keith sniffles, voice wavering as he continues on. “Lance, you…you’re everything. You’re my best friend, and my number o-one s-s-supporter, and the past two years…they’ve been some of the best years of my life. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever m-met. I-I didn’t know what I was getting into, when y-you asked me out and I said yes. I n-never anticipated falling this deeply in _love with you._ You’re so f-fucking _bright._ You’re smart and funny a-and you _care so much._ You’re br-brilliant and selfless and the best uncle and the best son and the best friend and the best b-boyfriend, and I-I have no doubt you’ll be the best husband. And I-I’m sorry that I don’t have a r-real ring, but…Lance, will you marry me?”

            Lance is full-blown crying by the time Keith’s done with his speech. He crashes to his knees in the sand in front of Keith, shaking hands reaching out to grasp Keith’s wrists as he nods, vigorously. Another sob wrenches itself free, along with a laugh.

            “Y-Yes— _oh my God_ —yes, yes!”

            And the dam breaks.

            Keith pulls Lance against him, Lance’s head falling into the crook of Keith’s neck as he lets himself crying, digging fingers into Keith’s back and holding on for dear life, and they sit like that for some time, the two of them caught in some cross between laughter and tears.

            Lance is the one that draws back first, reaching out to cradle Keith’s face in his hands. And then he leans back in and kisses him, and it’s like every star aligns. Keith’s hands tighten around Lance’s waist, holding them steady, while they unleash every pent-up emotion. They move in tandem, like always—when Keith pulls, Lance pushes, and vice-versa, until Lance finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against Keith’s.

            “Yes,” he breathes out again. “I-I don’t—we don’t need n-new…let me just…”

            He pulls back, far enough that Keith has to let go of him, and he takes Keith’s left hand, where the promise ring rests on his middle finger. Lance gently slides it off, and slides it onto his _own_ ring finger. Then he takes _his_ promise ring, in the same place where Keith’s just was, and takes it off, and puts it on Keith’s ring finger.

            “Oh jeez,” Keith whispers, choked up again. “You fucking sap.”

            “Me? The sap?” Lance responds. “I’m not the one who just proposed.”

            “Oh, hush,” Keith replies, and brings Lance in for another hug.

            They stay on the beach for only a short while after, quiet, drinking in each others’ existence, before they start back for the car, Keith carrying Lance in piggy-back fashion. Lance holds tightly to Keith’s neck, legs wrapped around his waist, Keith supporting him by the thighs.

* * *

            It’s not until they actually get moving, on the ride home, that they discuss the finer details of the proposal.

            “I-I don’t think we should just…run off and get married,” Keith says, car rolling up to a stoplight, and he takes the moment to flick his eyes over to Lance, who nods, silent as he listens. “I mean, I want to. You want to. But if we just…if we’re engaged during college, and we survive…I think we should get married when we’re not trying to get through school, y’know?”

            “Yeah, no, I completely agree,” Lance says, still inspecting the ring—the ring _Keith_ _’s_ worn since October, the one Lance now gets to wear, and it was warm when he put it on, and it’s still got a warmth of its own now, and his skin’s buzzing and his heart’s still racing, and yeah, he may or may not still be teary-eyed, with a dopey smile on his face. “And…if things…if they go downhill for whatever reason…divorce filings are a _bitch_.”

            Keith inhales sharply. Lance watches him close his eyes, momentarily, and then open them and let the breath go, as the light turns green again.

            “I…I know it’s not gonna be all sunshine and rainbows,” he says. “There’s gonna be stress and…there are gonna be fights, but…that’s just the way it goes. It’s nothing we can’t come out of together. Yeah, you’re right, divorce filings are rough, but…I’m not an idiot for saying it’ll never come to that, right? We…we’re gonna make it through whatever happens at each others’ sides.”

            Absently, Keith drops one hand away from the wheel, into the middle space between seats, and Lance takes his hand and twines their fingers and squeezes, before running a thumb along Keith’s knuckles.

            “No, you’re not an idiot,” Lance says. “I’ve got faith in us. You’re…you told your mom I’m your person. And you’re mine. You—you’re my _soulmate,_ Keith. I…I can _feel it._ You’re the one. You’re the one I want to get through life with. I want you to be the father of my children, I want you to be my husband, I want you to be there through it all. For the rest of my life.”

            Keith huffs out another laugh. “You said yes, I would hope so.”

            They quiet after that, and Keith takes the long way back to Allura’s, to the party still happening. The sun is low in the sky by the time Keith pulls back up to the curb, back to his parking space that, miraculously, hasn’t been stolen. Laughter and woodsmoke filter out of the backyard, indicating that most of the party’s moved outside, and the bonfire’s started.

            “Y’wanna tell everyone?” Keith asks, taking Lance’s hand again when they get out of the car.

            “Nah,” Lance responds, with a shake of his head. “Let ‘em figure it out for themselves. I think I’m gonna keep this present to myself for a little bit.”

            He and Keith lean in again, and brush lips softly.

            “Happy birthday, Lance,” Keith whispers.

            Lance smiles, as Keith leans his head on his shoulder. And then Lance leads his fiancé—his _fianc_ _é,_ now there’s something he’ll never get sick of hearing—back to the party, heart soaring.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not crying there's just dust in my eyes _shut your fucks_


End file.
